Bride of Grendel 2: Night of the Bear Man: A Viking Lore Erotic Tale (Viking Lore Erotic Tales Book 3) by Gwynn Jones Read Free Book Online

was like he'd caught hold of her sexual core and held her entire body rapt in his attentions. Every stroke sent another charge through her. Her back arched, her arms flung out, fingers digging into the smooth stone floor, she felt as though her sex was a glowing ball of light, a fire held in his hand, blazing ever higher. She thought she saw blue flames at the edge of her vision.
                  He lifted his head, looking up at her, his eyes wide.
                  "What is this? Magic? Are you a goddess?"
                  Sigrun realized that she was glowing. Truly glowing. Silver and blue sparks played across her skin. She seemed to have blue flames at her fingertips and flickering from her hair. Could this be happening? But she could feel it, the energy pulsing through her and emanating from her. And Beowulf clearly saw it, too. And yet, she thought, he also had a glow about him, a steady golden gleam that was surely more than just the play of the firelight on his hair and skin. He had risen to his knees, and his cock was massively erect.
                  "My hero," she whispered, "does it matter? Just take me!"
                  She sat up, wrapping her legs around his. With one arm around his chest, her fingers twisting into the hair at the back of his neck, and her other hand gripping his cock, she pulled herself up against him, guiding his sex to hers. She opened to him, hot and slick, and couldn't suppress a moan at the feel of his thick shaft sliding into her.
                  "Ahhh," he sighed, groaned, "oh, beautiful creature..."
                  He leaned back onto his heels, kneeling with her in his lap, and took hold of her hips. She let go of his cock and wrapped her arm around his waist so that she could take the full length of him into her. She sank slowly onto him, pulled back, sank again, until she had every last inch. She held him tightly, held herself against him for several moments, her body on fire, keeping him inside her, before she began to fuck him. She thrust against him, once, twice, again and again. His hands tightened on her hips. Lightning crackled across her belly. She rode him hard, and harder. His chest glistened with golden beads of sweat.
                  At first he held still, letting her move against him, but now he began to move with her, meeting thrust with thrust, grinding into her. She cried out, gasped at the powerful force of his cock. The way they met, the way they fit, was beyond anything she had felt before. She lost herself in the rhythm of their passion, the rapture of fucking and being fucked so perfectly in synch.
                  She could not have said how much time passed wrapped in Beowulf's arms. Waves of orgasm washed through her while he fucked her longer, better, more mightily than she had ever been fucked before. His stamina was astounding. Sparks flew from them. She threw her head back, silver flames bursting from the tips of her hair. She felt her climax building, about to explode through her, and wondered for a fraction of a second whether her final orgasm might not burn them both to cinders. But there was no controlling it. She froze, seized by her body's release, wracked by it and enveloped in it. Beowulf, ever the hero, caught up in the vortex of her climax, plunged his rock-hard rod as deep as it could go into her pulsing, molten cunt. They came together, clinging to one another, buffeted by the waves of perfect oblivion.
     
                  What now?
                  Their time together was brief. A day, a night, one, or a few? — long enough for all but Beowulf's most faithful companions to leave the lakeside, he would find, having given him up for dead. Long enough for Sigrun to tell him the true tale of Grendel's attacks and Hrothgar's sacrificial brides. Horrified, Beowulf promised that he would not interfere again, whatever political